


In Which Crowley Does Not Expect a Family Outing

by OlwenDylluan



Series: It Cannot Be Taken From You [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Kidfic, M/M, Other, Picnics, Snakes, coparenting is hard, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, look! ducks!, misuse of antique china, no beta we post like desperate men, snek!babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan
Summary: Aziraphale invites Crowley to a picnic, but leaves out some important information.





	In Which Crowley Does Not Expect a Family Outing

**Author's Note:**

> This is how Azirafather finally acquires the ability to converse with the children.
> 
> It's getting to the point where I need a timeline for my snek!baby ficlets, because they're not being written in order:
> 
> In Which a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet  
In Which the Children are Indisposed and Aziraphale Panics  
In Which Crowley Does Not Expect a Family Outing  
In Which the Kitten Does Not Get Et Because Aziraphale Is a Textual Purist 
> 
> Enjoy!

> _ St James, half past two. _
> 
> _ \- A. x _

Aziraphale still wrote notes with a fountain pen, on thick, creamy paper with a nice soft but strong feel to it.

Rather like the angel himself, come to think of it.

Crowley brushed his fingers over the note in his pocket as he stalk-swayed along the sidewalk, alarming fellow pedestrians as he approached, sure he was going to collide with them. That was just fine. It meant they gave him a wide berth and he didn’t have to navigate through the press the way humans did. He could have nudged them, influenced them to move aside, but why make the effort when they already parted before him in self-defence?

Aziraphale had a blanket laid out on the hill overlooking the pond. Crowley approved of today’s location. It would provide an excellent vantage for duck watching. It looked like he already had tea spread out, which was mildly unusual; Aziraphale liked to unpack the basket and show off while he set up whatever feast he’d assembled. Crowley rarely ate anything, of course, but he’d take a mouthful now and then just to satisfy Aziraphale’s need to fuss over him. Besides, giving in occasionally meant that Aziraphale won, and the delight the angel demonstrated when he successfully fed Crowley was worth dealing with the mouthful. It also spurred Aziraphale to try extra hard the next time to persuade him, encouraged by his previous success, which was an entirely different pleasure.

The angel caught sight of Crowley and waved happily. Crowley squinted through his glasses. Things were laid out, yes… and there seemed to be more place settings than usual.

As he got close enough, he saw that there were _ definitely _ more place settings than usual. And as he stepped onto the grass, he realized why.

“_Angel_,” he said. Aziraphale looked up at him, beaming.

“We’re having a picnic with the children!” he said.

Crowley had an odd sort of vertigo-ish moment.

“Angel,” he said again. “Tell me that you haven’t brought five blessed baby snakes to a public park. “

“Oh, they’re having a jolly time!” Aziraphale said. “Look. They all have their own teacups.”

_ Please let there not be any tea in them, _ Crowley thought before peering over his glasses. Five teacups each held a snakelet, happy ribbons of shiny scales and flickering tongues.

_ Hullo Father! We are picnicking with Azirafather!  
_

“I see that,” Crowley said dryly. He looked back at Aziraphale. “You put our children. In teacups.”

“In the delightful Spode ones from the 1815 set, yes,” he said in satisfaction. “Nothing but the best.”

“Angel.”

“Oh. Do you think I should have gone for the 1790 Wedgwood?” Aziraphale looked stricken.

“You have brought the children to a _ public park_.”

“It's such a pity to have them shut away in the shop all the time,” Aziraphale said. “I thought they could do with some fresh air. And they’re behaving beautifully.”

_ Look, Father! When we peek out of the cups, we can see ducks! _

Crowley covered his face with his hand and exhaled. He took a steadying breath in, and lowered himself to lounge on the picnic blanket.

_ Father father father! _ The snakelets slipped out of the teacups and slithered over to him.

_ It’s so warm. The sun is lovely, Father! _

“Can’t argue with you there.” He lowered a hand and allowed Anthony Junior to slip onto it, then raised his hand and gently bumped the snakelet's nose with his own in greeting.

Aziraphale began unpacking still more things from the basket while the other snakes began exploring the blanket and the dishes set out in it. They chattered away to one another about _ The sun! This is hard! This is soft! Don’t taste the basket, its flavour is bleah! That is a grass! Look, an ANT!  
_

Crowley leaned back on his elbows, closed his eyes, and let the sound wash over him. It blended with the wind in the leaves, the sounds of other people walking in the park, the occasional dog barking somewhere. He heard a gentle pop, and the children cheered.

“Champagne, darling?” Aziraphale said.

“When have I ever refused?” Crowley held out a hand, and Aziraphale placed a flute in it. “I knew it was champagne as soon as the kids cheered.”

“They cheered?”

“Oh, yeah. They love it when we uncork champagne. They always cheer. Just the noise, I suppose.”

“I didn’t know they did that.” Aziraphale set the bottle in an ice bucket. “What else do they say?”

“Well, right now they’re doing a running commentary to one another on the texture and flavour of grass. They’re being bombarded with smells everywhere; it’s a smorgasbord of flavour out here. That’s why their tongues are flicking non-stop. They’re going to be right terrors to put to bed tonight after all this overstimulation, the rotten things.”

Aziraphale made some sort of noncommittal noise and concentrated unnecessarily hard on cutting exactly equal slices of Battenberg cake. Crowley raised an eyebrow and watched him.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, my dear?”

“You’re fussed about something. Five minutes ago you were positively effervescent with pride and joy at taking the spawn on their first picnic. Now you’re decidedly not. Out with it.”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then put down the knife.

“I… I don’t….” He fussed with a plate for a moment, then said with anguish, “I can’t _hear_ them. I can talk to them, but I don’t know if they reply to me. I can only have an odd sort of lopsided conversation with them if you are present to tell me what they say.” He looked at Crowley, then dropped his gaze again. “It’s selfish, I'm well aware. I do know they love me, the precious things. And they know I love them. I only wish we could… tell each other.” His voice had lowered so much by the end of his speech that Crowley could barely hear him.

The little snakes had already begun converging on the angel, saying, _ Azirafather, Azirafather, we love you, we do, don’t be sad, we love you. _

“Yes, yes, children,” he murmured, extending his fingers to brush over the wriggling snakelets next to him. “I’m all right. I just love you so, and not being able to talk with you hurts my heart.”

“Aziraphale.”

“I know I’m just being silly, Crowley. And jealous. And thoughtless, really, saying this in front of the children. I do apologize. It’s quite out of my system now, I’m sure I’ll—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said again. “You idiot. You’re an angel.”

“Well, evidently that doesn’t bless me with speaking Parseltongue, or whatever _you_ call it. Crowley, I was baring my soul, and you—”

“You’re an _ angel. _You could have just miracled it.”

“Oh, Crowley—that did cross my mind, but it felt… selfish, using a miracle to understand my own children, when humans have to wait at least a year to begin conversing with their own progeny—and the idea made me feel so guilty that I couldn’t bring myself to—”

“Oh, for someone’s sake,” Crowley said, and snapped his fingers.

—_ too close No I’m not YOU’RE too close I’M making Azirafather feel better Father make him stop crowding me— _

_ “ _Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, startling. “Oh my goodness. Datura, let Clem be, he has every right to—gracious! Are they always this—“

“Shouty?” Crowley said dryly. “Off and on. They’re particularly talkative at the moment because you’ve taken them to a new place, outdoors, in the sun, for the first time.”

_ I ate an ANT! _

“Oh, I do hope that doesn’t disagree with you, Angelica,” Aziraphale said with concern.

_ I’m gonna eat one too! _

“Crowley, ought they really—”

“You wouldn’t even know what they were doing if you couldn’t hear them speak. They’re _ fine, _ angel.” Crowley tipped the glass back, letting the champagne slip down his throat. The bubbles tickled a bit, much the way he imagined an ant might have felt slipping down an enthusiastic snakelet’s throat for the first time. He made a mental note to congratulate his daughter on her first successful hunt and kill in private, once they were back at the shop.

Aziraphale watched them roaming about the blanket, looking both dazedly happy and anxious. The flowing burble of chatter to one another faded into the back of Crowley’s awareness again as he watched his angel watching their children. It was past time for that miracle, really. He should have thought of it before. Aziraphale had just been so good at intuiting what the children had wanted or needed that it hadn’t seemed to pose a problem. Of course Aziraphale had hidden his melancholy, not wanting to seem jealous of him, and fought guilt about the envy on top of it all.

_ Azirafather? _ The little white blue-eyed snake drew closer to him and looked up.

“Yes, Rosa, my dear?”

_ I’m awfully glad we can talk to you properly now. _

“Oh, so am I, my darling,” he said, and gently stroked her head with a finger. The tiny snake wiggled with pleasure—a move that Crowley recognised as being one of Aziraphale’s own customary reactions to happiness—and slitherwrapped around his wrist. Crowley realized that he was grinning like an idiot and hastily rearranged his features into his more customary detached expression.

_ Azirafather! Watch me! _

_ Azirafather, I’m hungry.  
_

_ Azirafather? Can I go off the blanket and climb on that stone? _

As Aziraphale started fussing and organizing the children, Crowley tipped the last of his champagne down his throat and lay on his back, closing his eyes. Might as well take advantage of the angel being the responsible entity on duty to absorb as much of the sun’s heat as he could.

He felt a hand slip into his.

“Thank you, darling,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley squeezed softly, and reached the empty flute in his other hand across his chest for more champagne.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious, [this is Aziraphale’s original 1815 Spode Tea Set.](https://www.gentlerattleofchina.com/product-page/spode-tea-service-1815-1820)
> 
> The 1790 Wedgwood Queen's Ware tea service has [this delicate pattern of blue and gilt.](http://m.vam.ac.uk/item/O78009/tureen-josiah-wedgwood-and/)
> 
> Aziraphale has several terribly fancy tea sets. He is very proud of them. The snek!babies have on occasion used them as pretend ships and enacted Terribly Daring Piracy on the shop’s rug. Crowley would never breathe a word of this heresy he has introduced to their progeny.


End file.
